


Strays

by bees_stories



Series: The New Team Torchwood Adventures [5]
Category: Taggart - Fandom, Torchwood
Genre: Case File, Crossover, Hurt: Ianto Jones, M/M, Murder, Mystery, Police Procedural, Torchwood One, Torchwood Two, ianto backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-02
Updated: 2012-11-02
Packaged: 2017-11-17 15:11:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bees_stories/pseuds/bees_stories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Ianto is shot, all Jack wants him to do is rest and recover. Ianto is reluctantly willing to go along with the plan when the incentive is a few days downtime in a posh Glasgow hotel. But things go quickly awry when he is reunited with Talbert Wilson, a colleague from Torchwood London, and the detectives from the Maryhill murder squad come calling.</p><p>Beta by McParrot, many thanks!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

***

Ianto irritably poked a teaspoon through the thick layer of orange pulp that floated like sludge on top of his glass. The fresh squeezed juice was a gift from the front desk clerk, a small apology for a delayed check in. He stirred the pulp, watching it disperse through the juice, and wondered what was keeping Jack. His captain had escorted him into the bar, made sure he was comfortably situated, and then promptly disappeared.

"Jonesy, is that you?" 

Ianto looked up from his contemplation of the swirling orange juice. His eyes widened in surprise as he clocked a face he hadn't seen for over a year, and frankly, hadn't ever expected to see again. "Tal?" 

Talbert Wilson looked older than his thirty-five years. His hair, what was left of it, was white. It contrasted starkly with his dark brown skin. A network of scars peeked out from his hairline, drifted down the side of his neck, and disappeared under the high collar of his jumper. 

Ianto beckoned him over and pointed at the adjacent table. "I'm afraid you'll have to bring your own." He lifted one of his crutches in explanation.

Tal took it all in. The wheelchair, the crutches, the walking cast, the fading bruise on his cheek, the glass of orange juice instead of his characteristic cup of coffee, and frowned. "You look like you've been through the wars, Jonesy. Are you still with..." he trailed off.

"Yeah." Ianto nodded. "Still on the job. You?"

"Working as a technical consultant." He looked around the room, suddenly apprehensive. "I came across something that would be of interest to … your employer. I tried to bring the information to the local, but it's closed shop." 

"We're reorganising." With difficulty Ianto leaned forward. "Can I help?" 

Tal looked around the room again. "Can we talk somewhere else? Somewhere private?"

"I'll be in room 142 when they finally let us check in. We can talk there." 

Tal poked at his pockets. He came up with a small cardboard rectangle and a pen. He tore the cardboard diagonally, wrote on one half, and pushed the unmarked piece across the table. "Hang on to that for me. I'll explain when I see you. Say, in an hour?" 

He gave Ianto a heartfelt look of gratitude as he rose. Swiftly, Tal strode out of the bar, brushing past Jack who was making his way towards the table. 

"Your friend was in a hurry." He regarded Ianto's pensive expression. "I take it he was a friend." He regarded the rapidly retreating man thoughtfully. "The funny thing was, I could have sworn I saw him following me earlier. Do I know him?"

"Talbert Wilson. He's more of a friendly ex-colleague." Ianto paused significantly. "From London. I introduced you at the Memorial Service." Ianto put the torn piece of what appeared to be a cloakroom claim check into his pocket. "He said he had something of interest, professional interest," he amended, "to discuss. I told him to come see me after we were checked in." He looked up at Jack. "I don't suppose you know when that might be?" 

Jack held up a key card. "I had a chat with the desk clerk." He dropped into the chair Talbert Wilson had abandoned and looked hopefully at Ianto's mostly untouched glass of juice. "I don't suppose you're actually going to drink that." 

Ianto shook his head and handed over the goblet. Jack took a generous swallow, smacked his lips, and drained the rest. "Oh, that's good stuff." He put down his glass and looked over at Ianto. "You ready?" 

His leg throbbed. He was curious, both about Jack's unexplained absence, and Talbert Wilson's mysterious behaviour. Ianto nodded and tried not to swear as he shifted his injured leg off the chair where it was propped, gathered up his crutches, and let Jack wheel him to their room.

***

It wasn't exactly as if a great weight had lifted, but the situation did seem a bit brighter as Talbert walked across the busy concourse of Glasgow's train station. He hadn't believed his luck. He'd just pocketed his train ticket to Cardiff when he'd spotted the distinctive figure of Captain Jack Harkness, RAF greatcoat and all, strolling across the concourse. Impulsively, he'd followed him into a bookshop and watched him buy up a large stack of paperback novels, magazines, and DVDs, adding them to the other purchases he'd already accumulated, before crossing to enter the hotel. 

At that point, Talbert's courage had failed him. He'd nipped into the bar to top it up and spotted Ianto Jones sitting alone, staring down a glass of orange juice like it was castor oil. 

Eyes were upon him, Talbert was sure of it. Furtively he glanced around the train station, but saw nothing but harried travellers, busy station employees, and the occasional tourist who had actually come just to view the architecture of Glasgow's iconic Victorian transportation hub. But the feeling wouldn't go away. He decided to obey his instinct, veered into the office of a courier service, and requested an envelope from the clerk. 

The service fee was dear, but he paid it without complaint. A little more of the weight lifted from his mind as he checked his watch and decided to go back to the hotel bar and have the postponed drink.

A man bumped into him, sending Talbert stumbling. Strong arms caught him. He started to turn, intending to thank his rescuer.

You seem to have dropped your hat." 

He thought it an odd thing to say, but before he could correct the man, a strong smelling cloth was pressed against his nose, and a something made of stiff fabric was jammed over his head. There was no time to cry out. There was no strength in his body with which to struggle. Talbert was glad he'd obeyed his instincts. He hoped Ianto would understand what he had done as the last vestiges of consciousness fled.

***

Ianto tried to hide his sigh as another shirt was opened for his inspection. It turned out Jack's mysterious absence could be chalked up to a shopping excursion meant to equip them both for several more days in Glasgow, and provide diversion in the form of books, DVDs, and – lord help him – a compendium of _The Times_ crossword puzzles.

It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the efforts. He was actually quite touched at the lengths Jack was going to insure his comfort, including moving them out of Torchwood Two and into one of the finest hotels in the city. But being the centre of so much attention made him uncomfortable. 

"You're spoiling me." Ianto didn't mean for his words to be a rebuke, but even to his own ears, they sounded a bit churlish.

Jack took it in stride. He'd taken all of Ianto's moaning over the past several days without complaint, and it added a new layer of guilt to his already overburden conscience. "I mean, it's all lovely, Jack, but surely there's some way we can get back to Cardiff?"

Ianto watched as Jack visibly composed himself. Maybe his patience was slipping after all. He put the shopping aside and sat down on the sofa, careful not to jostle Ianto's injured leg.

"We've had this conversation. Remember? This morning? It was right after the doctor jumped down my neck for letting you push yourself too hard. Maybe it's hazy because of the pain killers. You busted up your knee and ankle falling down the stairs because you couldn't wait for me to come help you."

"It was only three stairs." As a defence it was admittedly weak, but Jack made it sound like he'd tumbled down the entire flight.

Jack ignored him. "So instead of going out for breakfast, we went to the hospital, where you spent most of the morning getting scans." 

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, regaining some of his composure. "You can't travel until you get medical clearance. And trust me, you don't want to even try with your leg the way it is right now. You need to rest and heal. Here, you have hot and cold running room service, things to keep your mind occupied, and me."

He took Ianto's hand and rubbed little circles along the palm ridges with his thumb. "I know it's not much of a holiday, but let's try and make the best of it." He picked up the hotel's guidebook and opened it to the page describing the spa's services. "Look. I can have them come up here to you. A little Swedish rubdown to get your circulation going?"

Jack was trying. And he was being an ungrateful prig. Ianto tried to put some enthusiasm into his smile as he agreed, "That would be nice."

***

"Boss," DS Jackie Reed racked the telephone and scanned the squad room, but it seemed the chief inspector had stepped out. She spotted her colleagues, Robbie and Stuart, over by the coffee pot. Robbie, as usual, was teasing Stuart over his non-existent love life. And Stuart, as usual, was taking it all in his stride. The pair of them were like siblings, and though she supposed it made her a bit pathetic, the squad room felt like home. "Any idea where the boss is?"

"Here, Jackie," the chief inspector replied from the doorway. 

"We have a case, sir. They found a body under the train station."

***

DCI Matt Burke scanned the cordoned off area, taking its measure. They were in a remote corner of the car park, in the area reserved for station employees. The scene of crime officers were already hard at work. A freight lift stood open nearby, and next to it was a large refuse cart. A crime scene technician had taken an interest. He was pointing something out to the photographer. 

His team was waiting. Burke took a breath and went to look at the body. 

"Chief Inspector, good to see you." Gemma Kerr looked up from the corpse long enough to acknowledge his presence before returning to her work. "We have a male. Don't let the white hair fool you, he's in his early to mid thirties. Two gunshot wounds to the back of the head. Close range. You can see the powder burns. I'd say it was a point three eight calibre. Faint smell of chloroform around the mouth and nose. Death was recent. No more than an hour." 

"Any identification?" Burke asked as he lowered to the tarmac to examine the victim more carefully. 

Gemma pointed at the ground before retrieving the wallet that lay next to the body. She flipped it open carefully. "Cash gone. Cards are here. Name on the driving licence is Talbert Wilson." 

The others had gathered, getting their own impressions of the dead man. 

"Terrible scars on the sides of his neck," Jackie remarked.

Gemma nodded. She traced the pathway of one into the corpse's hairline. "Old surgery scars and healed lacerations." 

"Probably not relevant to our case, then," Burke said as he straightened. He regarded his team. "Stuart, get with the facilities manager." 

"CCTV, right."

"Robbie, get a statement from the witness that found the body, then go see what you can dig up on Wilson. Jackie and I will go get a look at his residence. We'll meet back at the station."

***

"Sir." Jackie pointed at the scratches on the door frame. 

"Right." Matt Burke cast his eyes over the modest detached brick house and the neat garden that surrounded it. His gut told him that not all was well. "Get some uniform boys and the crime scene squad." He gently pushed the door open with his shoulder.

"Ransacked." He heard Jackie behind him, telling Dispatch that it was a priority crime scene. "What do you suppose they were looking for?" He stepped around the contents of the coat cupboard and into the sitting room to a small writing desk. Its drawers had been upended and letters and papers littered the floor.

Jackie handed him a pair of gloves. He pulled them on and very carefully picked through the mess, looking for something that might put him on the right track. "There's not much we can do here until the scene is photographed and dusted." 

The first patrol car rolled up to the kerb outside. Two uniform officers got out, conferred with one another, and flipped a coin. Burke watched it all through the lace curtains. 

"Sir?" Jackie called. Burke followed the sound of her voice upstairs to the bedroom. There was a second desk there, its contents just as disarranged as the one downstairs. "It appears Mr Wilson was in business for himself." She pointed at a scatter of cards all imprinted with the name Wilson Technical Consulting. 

"We need to find a diary. Business records. Client lists." Burke frowned. There hadn't been a computer downstairs. He scanned the bedroom and didn't see any evidence of one there, either. "Where's his computer?" 

"I haven't seen one." 

There was a knock on the door frame. A scene of crime officer, complete with camera hanging over his neck, stood waiting to report for duty. Burke beckoned him forward. "Right. Get to it. I want this place gone over with a fine-toothed comb. Come on, Jackie."

***

Stuart froze the CCTV image on display and leaned forward to get a better view. He silently thanked the patron saints of lost causes and policemen as he confirmed he'd located his quarry. 

He noted the time stamp, and then let the playback continue, frowning as he observed how nervous their victim seemed to be as his gaze darted continually around the busy train station. Something or someone caught Wilson's attention. He stopped in his tracks, interrupting the flow of traffic, and then darted purposely forward. 

A man stood in front of a clothiers, his hands laden with shopping bags. Stuart stopped the video. The man cut a striking figure in a vintage RAF greatcoat. Even in the less than sterling quality CCTV, it was evident he was quite handsome with his chiselled features and high cheekbones. Stuart sighed. Even if the man was gay – which he probably wasn't – he was either taken or out of his league. He resumed the playback and went back to watching Wilson. 

Whoever the man in the RAF greatcoat was, he had attracted Wilson's attention as well. He followed the coat-guy into the book shop. Stuart fast forwarded, watching the little people dart around at high speed until the man in the greatcoat, with Wilson following, walked out of the shop and made for the hotel. 

It was easy to make a credible print of the best frames. Stuart had been consigned to the CCTV room for so many years he could sleepwalk through the process if he had to, and sometimes, with the hours they worked, he did. He abandoned the rest of the DVDs, picked up his prints, and went back to the office.

***

Stuart put his photographs up on the whiteboard next to the picture of the victim and the shots of the crime scene. DCI Burke scowled, but for a change it wasn't directed a him, he was just unhappy with the state of their case. Maybe the briefing would cheer him up. 

"All right, Robbie. What have you found?" The chief inspector folded his arms over his chest. 

"Talbert Wilson, thirty-five. Born in Glasgow. When he was fresh out of university he moved to London where he worked for an engineering concern. He was a victim of the Canary Wharf bombings. After he was released from hospital, he came back to Glasgow. He's been in business for himself ever since." Robbie paused and took a sip from his cup before adding a candid photograph of an unhappy-looking man to the white board. "He was found by this man: Derrick Cooper. He works as a maintenance supervisor. He said he'd never seen Wilson before, and I don't doubt him." 

"Stuart, anything on the CCTV?"

He was up. Stuart cleared his throat and began to report. "We can place Wilson in the train station this morning. He took an interest in this man. Almost made an approach, but he backed off and followed him into the hotel." 

A constable walked into the room. He had a stack of files, and a sour expression. He handed the files to Chief Inspector Burke, and looked at the photograph of the man in the RAF coat. "He's turned up again, has he? I knew that one was trouble." 

The constable began to move away, but Burke stopped him by placing a hand on his shoulder. "Hold up. What do you mean, Jenkins?"

"I was working perimeter duty at a scene of crime the other morning, Chief Inspector. He shows up, big as life. Said he was Special Branch. Torchwood. He could go where he liked." Constable Jenkins glowered. "Turns out he was right. Inspector Duff let him walk right over procedure. I never seen anything like it. She's always such a stickler."

"Did this officer have a name?" Burke asked. 

"Yes, sir. Called himself … " Jenkins paused as if even saying the name was enough to provoke an attack of heartburn. "Captain Jack Harkness."

***

There was a knock at the door. Ianto paused the DVD and nudged Jack, who'd fallen asleep on the sofa next to him. He looked over at the clock on the end table. Talbert was running late. That, or it was the masseur Jack had requested. Ianto hadn't been awake when he made the appointment.

Jack pushed off the sofa as the knock was repeated, this time with much more authority. 

"Jack Harkness?"

"Who are you?" To Ianto's mind, Jack sounded guarded, but curious.

Ianto looked up. There were two of them, a man and a woman. They both had cards out for Jack's inspection. 

"Police, sir. May we have a word?" 

Jack stepped aside and gestured them in. Ianto frowned. He wondered if it was a follow up interview about his shooting. Jack had handled things at the hospital, refusing to let anyone speak directly to him on the grounds what went on during a classified operation was none of their business. But that wouldn't stop the Cardiff locals from getting inquisitive, and he didn't expect that the Scottish police would be much different. 

The woman approached. She was in her forties, with a crop of dark hair that was both practical and stylish. Her companion looked to be older, in his fifties. His hairline wasn't receding as much as retreating, his fringe was cropped so high on his skull. With his sharp eyes and prominent jowls, he reminded Ianto a bit of a bulldog.

"DCI Matt Burke," the man announced. "This is my colleague DS Reed." 

Jack had put himself between the two police officers and the sofa where Ianto reclined, but it wasn't enough to stop the DS from looking him over with interest. She approached. "Are you Ianto Jones?" 

"That's right." Ianto had a crawling feeling. Both officers had that solemn expression that generally came to someone tasked with delivering bad news. "What's this about?" 

"May I?" When Ianto nodded his permission, the DS perched on the coffee table close enough to establish a rapport. Jack crossed to stand at Ianto's back, and DCI Burke dropped into the arm chair adjacent. The gladiators on the television disappeared as Ianto switched them off. 

"You haven't answered my friend's question, Inspector." Jack put a hand against Ianto's shoulder. "What's this about?" 

"That's Chief Inspector." The Chief Inspector's eyes met Jack's for a moment in a silent command for respect, and then he returned his attention to Ianto. "Mr Jones. Do you know a man called Talbert Wilson?" 

The crawling feeling ascended his spine. There was no point in lying outright, someone had obviously seen them together. But there was also no reason to be overgenerous with the truth. "Yes," he replied guardedly. "Has something happened to him?"

"Why would you ask that, Mr Jones?" DCI Burke asked mildly. 

Ianto shrugged. "You're senior officers. In Cardiff, that generally means a serious crime has occurred." 

"That's true enough, Mr Jones," DS Reed replied. "Mr Wilson has been murdered." 

Ianto felt the colour drain from his face. Jack squeezed his shoulder, offering reassurance. It was an effort to look up from his hands and face the two police officers. "How? When?"

"He was shot, Mr Jones. We'd like to know why," DCI Burke said. 

The last thing Talbert had said to him was that he had something that was of interest to Torchwood. He had been nervous. Jumpy. But wouldn't elaborate in public what exactly he'd stumbled across. His death was Torchwood business, but they couldn't tell the police that.

Ianto raised his head and looked at both detectives without guile. "Tal was once a colleague. We'd worked together in London. He saw me in the bar and came over to say hello."

"That's all?" DCI Burke chewed over his answer like it was made of ground glass. He removed a photo from his inside breast pocket and handed it to Jack. "Then perhaps you could explain this photograph, Mr Harkness." 

"It's Captain, actually." Jack looked at the photo for a moment and shrugged. "I can't help you. Ianto tells me we met in London. Maybe he was thinking about reintroducing himself and then changed his mind."

He handed the photo to Ianto. The still had been captured from CCTV of the station concourse. Jack stood in profile, on the verge of stepping into a bookshop. Talbert was only a few feet behind, his expression intent and focused on Jack.

Ianto handed it to DS Reed. She put it into her pocketbook before glancing at her boss. It seemed she was gauging his reaction. "Captain Harkness. Our understanding is you were here in Glasgow conducting an operation for Special Branch."

Jack looked at her, his face closed and unreadable. "That's right." 

"Could the death of Mr Wilson and your operation be connected?" 

Ianto supposed in a way, albeit remotely, they were. If Tal had been able to get to Archie before they'd closed him down, then it was possible his death could have been prevented. 

"No," Jack replied firmly. There was a knock at the door. "Now if you'll excuse us, that's probably Mr Jones' physical therapist."

***

"I didn't like that man." DCI Burke toss the car keys to Jackie as he hit the speed dial on his mobile. 

"If you'll pardon me for saying so, sir," she replied as they pulled out of the car park. "I don't think he cared much for you, either." 

Burke ignored her as the call went through. 

"Robbie. Any joy at Wilson's house?" The DCI's lips pursed and he raised an eyebrow. "That's promising. Have a look into them." He listened for a second, and then continued. "You know Inspector Duff, don't you? Good, I thought as much. Have a word with her, will you? See what you can find out about that incident at her crime scene."

***

Stuart regarded the glass and chrome front entrance of RDF. They had a predictably high concept logo that was meant to be an exploded atom splayed over the door. It didn't do much for him, but he wasn't much for art. 

Robbie ended a phone call to the boss, last minute instructions from the sounds of it, and dropped his mobile into his pocket as they approached the receptionist. He exchanged the phone for his warrant card which he laid on the counter in front of the woman. 

"I was wondering if we might have a word with Mr Saunderson?" 

The secretary was young, brunette, and pretty in a conventional sort of way. Robbie chatted her up, not because he really expected to get the coffee date he was pitching for, but just to keep in practice. Stuart tried to ignore them. The secretary scrawled a number on the back of a business card and pressed it into Robbie's palm as she buzzed them through.

"I don't believe you." Stuart glanced back at the secretary. She was shuffling her paperwork as if she were flustered and couldn't quite believe what she'd done either. 

Robbie shrugged in reply. "It's a gift. And a skill. I keep telling you, Stuart, you need to practice more if you ever hope to score." 

As if he had the time, or the opportunity. It seemed like every guy he was even remotely interested in was already taken. 

A man waited at the top of the corridor. The tailored lab coat he wore looked more like an affectation rather than a necessity. He had a fresh hair cut, expensive aftershave, and Italian shoes that had cost a packet. He looked like a player and Stuart distrusted him on sight. 

"Marcus Saunderson." He extended his hand. "If you gentlemen will follow me, we can speak in my office."

Robbie took the lead, doing the necessary introductions. They were shown into an office that had the same sense of theatre as Saunderson's lab coat. _"Portrait of a Entrepreneur at Work."_ Stuart scrawled in his notebook as they were offered chairs and declined coffee.

"Mr Saunderson, we've come to ask questions about Talbert Wilson." 

Sanderson sat back in his leather chair and frowned. "Tal Wilson is, or was, I should say, a consultant. He did some work for us, but the contract ended a month back." 

That might have been true, the last deposit to Wilson's account had been about a week before. 

"What sort of work might that have been?" Robbie asked. It was a fairly standard question, but for a moment, Saunderson seemed slightly taken aback. 

"He looked over a design for us. I'm afraid I can't be more specific. Company confidentiality." 

"Mr Wilson has been murdered, Mr Saunderson. And his house ransacked. We believe it may have something to do with his work for you." 

Saunderson raised an eyebrow, the picture of concern and disbelief. "Tal murdered? Impossible. I just saw him for lunch last week. We talked about a follow on contract. How can he be murdered?" 

"I'm afraid it's true, sir." Robbie gave him a moment and then pressed on. "When he worked for you, did he have a laptop computer?"

"Of course." Saunderson nodded. He looked slightly less composed for a few seconds and then he shrugged. "We provide all of our consultants with the tools they need, to do the work we need them to do. The computer was returned to us upon completion of the assignment." 

"So it's here then?" 

"Of course." Saunderson tapped keys on his computer. "It was logged back into our IT department on the 24th, refurbished, and sent out with a sales rep last week." He looked away from the monitor and shrugged. "So you see, gentlemen, Tal's computer wasn't stolen. Whatever happened to him can't have anything to do with us." 

It sounded like a dismissal. Saunderson rose from his chair and straightened the already impeccable lines of his lab coat. "I'd like to help, detectives. I really would. Tal Wilson was a brilliant engineer, and I'd like to think, a friend, but his death wasn't connected to his work. At least not his work for us." 

Robbie rose. Stuart put his notebook away. They weren't going to get anything else out of Marcus Saunderson.

***

Jackie dropped her coat and handbag on her chair and headed straight for the coffee pot. Stuart was already waiting with a cup in his outstretched hand. "Thanks." 

"You look like you need it," he replied softly as DCI Burke cleared his throat loudly. 

"Sorry, sir," Jackie said contritely. She took a sip from her cup and it was exactly right. Dire, but bracing after the cold. 

"Robbie, what did you find out about Wilson's business dealings?" 

Robbie flipped the page of his notebook. He glanced downward for a moment and then began to speak. "Wilson was an engineer. He specialised in energy systems, lasers, microwave antennas, things of that nature. His bank records show he's been paid ten thousand pounds a month for the last quarter by RDF Engineering." 

"Do we know what he did for them?" 

Robbie shook his head. "There were no notes or other documentation at his home. And Marcus Saunderson, RDF's Director of Technological Development, was less than forthcoming when we spoke to him. He claims they provided Wilson with a laptop and took it back at the end of the contract." 

"Shouldn't he have had a personal computer? Technical guy like that. We didn't find so much as a mobile."

"Stuart's right," Robbie said. "According to the neighbour we spoke with, Wilson was always carrying at least one computer, and he was an absolute junkie when it came to his mobile. Always had to have the latest and greatest model." 

"So there's a strong possibility that Wilson had his personal computer and his mobile stolen." Burke made a note on the incident board as Robbie flipped a page in his notebook. 

"Torchwood. Every heard of it?" Robbie asked. "Special Branch. Extremely hush hush. No one's sure exactly what they do. Gracie Duff said this Captain Harkness showed up at her crime scene out of the blue. When she protested, he told her to take it up with the Home Office."

"What was the case?" Jackie asked. 

"There's the funny thing. It was an abandoned boat. There was some sort of electronic device attached to the steering mechanism, so Gracie called in the bomb squad. Harkness and his associate – " Robbie consulted his notes. "Andy Davidson – arrived before they did. They seemed to know exactly what to expect. Harkness disarmed the mechanism, and Davidson drove off in the boat. Harkness said it was evidence in a contraband case." 

"Contraband?" Burke said. "What kind?" 

Robbie shook his head. "He wouldn't say. Later, when another one of his team showed up in hospital with a bullet wound, Grace tried to get more out of him. Harkness just said that the case was closed. No explanation at all." 

"So Jones isn't just Harkness' boyfriend, he's a colleague as well?" Jackie digested that bit of information. It added more weight to the idea that Talbert Wilson was trying to hand over his problem, what ever it was, to someone in authority. "Still, fancy suite, all those books and videos. It certainly looked like the pair of them were on holiday rather than on the job." 

"Right." DCI Burke, inclined his head towards the doorway. "I think we better have another word with the Captain."

"Why?" Jackie asked. "Other than a past friendship between Jones and Wilson, there's nothing to connect them." 

"Maybe. Maybe not," DCI Burke replied. "Robbie, why don't you and Stuart have a go at him. There's something about this high tech stuff – fancy bombs and missing computers – that's setting my guts to worrying."

To be continued... 


	2. Chapter 2

***

"You're not going to let this go, are you?" 

Ianto swallowed back an apology. He had tried, really tried, to put Talbert Wilson's murder out of his head and enjoy everything Jack was trying to provide, but he just couldn't do it. He had lain on the massage table whilst a weedy-looking Scot with powerful hands worked the kinks out of his shoulders, and gently stroked and soothed the abused muscles of his lower back and hips, but he couldn't get his mind to stop worrying at the fact that Tal had come to him, confided that he had found something of interest to Torchwood, and then got himself killed. 

"I've tried." Ianto looked down at his injured leg with disdain. Sidelined as he was, there was very little he could do from his luxurious confines. "I'm not asking to get involved. I just want to know what Tal has been up to since he left Torchwood. Maybe there's something relevant that can help the police."

Jack scowled, but Ianto knew that he'd won. Death coming so close after his injury didn't rest well with Jack, either.

"I'll call home and have them run a background check. Get into some of the files the police can't. Will that make you happy?" 

Ianto nodded. "Thank you." As a concession, he picked up the crossword puzzles, opened the book at random, and began to fill in answers.

***

"I've got your preliminary autopsy report." 

Matt thought Gemma looked as if she were on her way to a high street lunch at a swank restaurant, not down to the grubby basement level of the building where she conducted most of her work. Her long blonde hair was done up in a high ponytail, and her bright pink tee-shirt barely skimmed the waistline of a pair of tight and faded designer blue jeans. 

"You'd think Wilson was killed by two point three eight calibre slugs fired close to the head," she said, handing over the report. "I did at the crime scene. But you'd be wrong."

"So what did kill him?" Burke didn't bother flipping open the file. Instead, he looked at the forensic scientist expectantly. 

"Acute respiratory distress that led to cardiac arrest. He was allergic to the chloroform. You've got a kidnapping gone wrong on your hands, Chief Inspector."

***

Gwen looked around the conference table at her colleagues. They were all dressed in casual clothing, and their hands and faces were grubby with dust from unpacking boxes and containers off the removal van; the van which they had promised the hire firm they would return no later than six o'clock – a deadline already come and gone – or face a hefty penalty. 

She pressed a button and the lights dimmed. A second key sequence brought up a photograph of the man at the heart of their enquiry. "This is Talbert Wilson. He's a survivor of Torchwood London. During the attack he was severely injured when a wall collapsed on top of him. He underwent intensive physical and mental therapy, after which he returned to Glasgow where he was attempting to rebuild his life." 

"So what's this to do with us?" Andy asked. He reached for a slice of pizza, covered it liberally with cheese, and took a large bite. 

"Talbert was killed today in the car park at Glasgow's central train station. Shortly before that happened, he met Ianto in the hotel bar." 

Dev snagged a piece of crust off Mark's plate. "I thought he was supposed to be on bed rest. What was Ianto doing in the bar?" 

Gwen tried not to smirk. She had asked a similar question when she had spoken to Jack. "Waiting for the room to be made up, evidently. Anyway. Talbert told Ianto that he had something of interest to Torchwood. But before Ianto could find out what that was, he took off." She shrugged. "Ianto could hardly give chase. But they had promised to meet later for a proper catch up. Wilson never showed." 

"Because he was busy getting killed?" Andy said. 

"Presumably," Gwen rotated the photo to show a candid shot of the car park. Ribbons of crime scene tape dangled haphazardly from support beams. She moved the display forward again to show an overview of the train station and the hotel bar.

"What Jack wants is for us to dig into Talbert Wilson's life. Mark, he wants you to do a forensic analysis of the CCTV. We've got capabilities the police don't." She pulled a sheet of notes off her clipboard and slid them across the table. "Jack said you might find these times useful in narrowing your search. Andy, you look into his current affairs. Dev, hack the police computer. Get inside the investigation. I'll look into his past." She regarded each of her team-mates soberly. "Ianto is pretty cut up about this. There aren't many survivors of Torchwood One. Now there's one less."

***

Ianto watched the door close with a soft click. A small wave of relief washed over him. Earlier, he'd caught himself about to snap over something inconsequential. Instead, he'd suggested maybe it would be a good idea if Jack did a personal inspection of the gym and spa to see if the steam room and other facilities would be worth the trouble of a visit. 

He settled against the cushions and regarded his books and the remote control, unable to relax. Unwelcome thoughts kept rising to the surface of his mind. 

Had Dev and Andy's teasing got the better of him? Had there really been a veiled suggestion that he had deliberately got shot in order to have an extended holiday with Jack in Scotland? Or was that his guilty conscience imagining? Is that why he had been so incredibly stupid earlier, attempting to go down the steps at Torchwood Two with only those bloody crutches?

He should have waited for Jack. Instead, he had cautiously negotiated each tread with care and consideration until he was sure he'd got the hang of placing the crutches and swinging his injured leg one step lower. He'd become overconfident and moved too rapidly, overbalanced, and tumbled, adding a twisted knee and a sprained ankle that caused pain so intense tears sprung to his eyes every time he as much as shifted his weight.

At the hospital they had given him powerful medication, but it had made him feel surreal and slightly out of phase. He considered the vial of pills sitting helpfully at his elbow along with a glass of water, the room service menu, the phone – everything he might possibly need had been thoughtfully laid out by Jack within easy reach – but he left them where they were. He wanted his mind clear so that he could think. At least for the short term, he would try to manage without them.

The sofa cushions were a comfort against his sore back. The pillows were in exactly the right spot to take the weight off the over-stretched tendons in his ankle and knee. Ianto closed his eyes and began to relax into sleep. His mind emptied of everything – guilt over his injuries, curiosity over the death of his former colleague, worries about his peevishness. 

There was a sharp knock at the door. 

Ianto groaned. Jack had ordered room service before he left. Evidently someone had forgot to relay the instruction they were to let themselves in with a passkey so that he wouldn't have to get up.

The knock repeated. With a curse, Ianto picked up his crutches and used them to lever himself upright. 

"Just a bloody minute," he called out to whomever was destroying his peace.

He looked through the peep hole. There were two men he didn't recognise standing there. From their general demeanour he made them as police, but as a precaution, he did up the chain before opening the door. "Yes?" 

The older of the two, the one with dark hair and an easy confidence, held out a warrant card for inspection. "DI Ross. DC Fraser. We were wondering if we could have another word." 

Waves of pain made him light-headed. Ianto undid the chain and let them in. He limped back to the sofa, collapsed onto the cushions, and barely resisted the impulse to howl in agony. Despite his earlier misgivings, he reached for his pain pills. 

"Here," the younger of the two detectives said. He had close-cropped ginger hair, prominent ears, and a kind smile. "Let me help." 

Ianto let him fix the cushions and hand over the glass of water. They waited whilst he chased away the bitter taste of the pills. 

"You're on your own?" DI Ross surveyed the room with a keen eye. 

"I was," Ianto replied dryly. He wasn't about to discuss his domestic situation with a pair of detectives. "How can I help you, gentlemen?" 

"We were hoping," DC Fraser said, "you might give us a little more background on Talbert Wilson. You see, Mr Jones, he's got no family. His neighbours said he was friendly enough, but he mostly kept himself to himself. No one knew much about him." 

Ianto frowned. He was already starting to feel a bit more mellow. He marvelled at the powerful placebo effect of medication. "Take the pills," the doctor had said, "and you'll feel better." He had taken the pills. Even though there was no way they could have started to influence his system, he already was. 

"As I told your colleagues, I haven't seen Tal for some time. We lost touch after I returned to Cardiff and he to Glasgow." 

"How did you come to know one another in the first place?" DI Ross settled into the armchair and and leaned forward in a listening pose. 

It was easy to tell a lie that was close to the truth. The lessons hard learned in his early days at Torchwood Three served Ianto well as he regarded the detectives. "We worked for the same firm. I was a clerk. He was an engineer. After the terrorist attack at Canary Wharf..." Ianto looked down at his hands. "I survived relatively unscathed and came back to Wales. Tal was gravely injured. He spent a long time in hospital. Such a shame. He'd made an amazing recovery." His regret that he hadn't made more of an effort to keep in touch was real, and Ianto let it colour his words.

"Was that before you joined Special Branch?" Fraser asked. "You see, Mr Jones, we know you were injured while on the job. And the job you were on involved some kind of technical contraband." 

Ianto looked up at the pair with a bland expression and wondered how they had managed to get five out of two plus two. But he didn't correct Fraser, it was better to see how far off track the investigators were. 

"Whoever killed Wilson stole his computer and his fancy mobile," DI Ross said. "They tore up his house looking for something. We know Wilson started to approach Captain Harkness, but came to you instead. Did he tell you anything? Anything at all that would lead to his killer?" 

There was a knock at the door. A soft knock. A deferential knock. Ianto looked up. Room Service was finally delivering the snacks Jack had insisted on ordering. He frowned. Someone really hadn't passed on the instructions they were to admit themselves. He started to rise. 

"I'll get that." Fraser went to the door. A man in a porter's short coat and black bow tie pushed his way in, forcing the detective constable backwards at the point of a gun. 

For a beat, no one moved. Ross was in no position to do anything but stare as the slide of the pistol was racked in warning. Ianto took advantage. He picked up the book of crosswords and lobbed it with as much force as he could at the gunman. 

It struck him weakly in the side of the head, but that was enough of a distraction for DC Fraser. He threw himself into the man, slamming him against the door. DI Ross leapt to his feet as the gun fell and was kicked away. Fraser aimed a sharp jab at the attacker's face, and then clutched at his fist as his partner yanked the assailant's arms behind him. 

It appeared neither officer carried handcuffs. Ianto sighed. "There's a packet of tie wraps in the bathroom. I'd get it for you myself, but – " He motioned at his crutches as DC Fraser sprinted off. 

The gunman moaned. DI Ross tightened his grip and began to recite the official caution. DC Fraser returned with the tie wraps and bound the man's hands behind his back. 

"Not that I'm complaining," he said. "But why do you keep tie wraps in your bath?" 

Ianto pointed at his leg. "Makes it easier to keep the wound on my leg dry when I'm in the shower." Fraser blushed and then looked down at his hand. He winced as he flexed his fingers. "Maybe you better put some cold water on that before it swells."

Despite the fact someone had just tried to force their way in at gunpoint, Ianto felt remarkably sanguine about everything as Jack burst in a few moments later, half carrying half dragging another faux-hotel worker, and demanded explanations. Gun-toting thugs could only be a clue. All they needed to do was beat a confession out of them and the answer to why Tal had been murdered would be revealed.

***

Moving was always a hassle, Dev thought. But it seemed even more so when it was someone else's household being shifted. A bit of computer hacking was a welcome relief from unpacking the remains of Torchwood Two. She drilled into the Scottish police network, lifting her eyes from the monitor long enough to glance around and see that the others were similarly occupied with their own pieces of the investigation.

Gwen had set up an incident board, and was busy tacking up a personnel photo of a much younger looking Talbert Wilson alongside the pictures Jack had provided of the crime scene. Mark and Andy both had their heads down, fingers tapping busily away at keyboards as they ferreted for information.

Dev returned her attention to her own work. It was surprisingly easy to find a back door into the Strathclyde municipal server, and from there to the Maryhill nick. She launched a program nicknamed 'data scoop', and considered search terms. "Simple is best," Dev muttered before typing 'Jack Harkness', 'Ianto Jones', and 'Talbert Wilson' into the query box. Eventually, a document with the case number would be caught by the scoop and they would be able to shadow the entire investigation as it was input into the computer system.

Data Scoop went to work scanning the most recently input reports. The document counter recorded a number of hits almost immediately. Dev set the system default to print off anything of potential interest, and went to make a cup of tea.

***

Beyond the glass in the semi-privacy of DCI Burke's office, Robbie watched as the boss went toe to toe with Captain Jack Harkness. The pair had been going at it hammer and tongs ever since they had brought their suspects into custody. Robbie had done his best to leave Harkness back at the hotel, but he had insisted on taking part in the interview. He relented when he considered that Ianto Jones was high on pain medication, and there was a chance that under its influence he might open up to Stuart about what was really going on. 

Jackie glanced away from the show and regarded him with curiosity. "Tell me, Robbie, how would you react if you found out some toe rag had burst into your hotel room with the intent of roughing up your lover?" 

"I can't say I'd be any too pleased," he admitted. "But even injured, Jones is no wilting flower. He handled the situation quite neatly." He tipped his head towards the glass. "Looks like they've reached some sort of compromise." 

DCI Burke was simmering. That was the only word for it. Harkness looked smug. "Robbie, you're with me. Jackie, take the Captain to the observation room."

***

Jackie was right, Dougie Walsh was a toe rag. He had mean little eyes that popped from their sockets. His mouth was a thin line that bisected a pock-marked rat-like face. There were hundreds like him in Glasgow. Small time thugs that wanted to be hard men, but didn't really have the mettle. 

"All right, son." Despite his earlier display of temper, DCI Burke seemed relaxed, almost jovial, as he regarded the man sitting across the table. "We've got you bang to rights on the assault charge, and Ballistics is testing the gun you were waving around. So why don't we just cut to the chase and you tell us what this is all about." 

Dougie knew the system and had screamed for a solicitor almost as soon as he had been cautioned. The legal aide brief cupped her hand in front of her mouth and whispered into his ear.

"I want a deal." Dougie crossed his arms over his chest and glared defiantly.

"And we want answers," Burke replied. "So why don't you put your cards on the table?"

The door opened. Gemma stuck her head in. "It's a match." She waited for comment. Burke nodded grimly, and she withdrew. The chief inspector folded his hands in front of him and looked at Dougie with something akin to sympathy. "It's murder we're talking about, son."

"It never was meant to be!" Dougie blurted. His solicitor tried to shush him, but he brushed her away. "He was no meant to die!" 

"So what happened?" Burke kept his tone gentle, coaxing Dougie to spill his sordid story.

"He took something," Dougie muttered. "Something that never was his. We were supposed to get it back." He looked up at them, his earlier defiant glare even more intense. "It's his fault he's dead. No ours!" 

"And tonight?" Robbie said. "What was that all about?" 

"Lackie saw him talking to the gimp. We thought maybe ... The gun was just to scare him." 

"Who put you up to this, Dougie?" DCI Burke leaned forward, his voice low and intense. "Who paid you?"

Dougie shook his head. His earlier bravado melted away and he seemed as if he might cry. "I don't know! It was a friend of a friend that set it up. I never knew nothing."

"Right, son. You're doing fine." The chief inspector nodded his head ponderously. "Now, let's go through it all from the beginning."

***

Stuart played with the edged of his coffee cup. He was desperately curious about what was going on, but he wasn't sure how to go about easing his way into the conversation. "That was quick thinking earlier. With the book, I mean. You probably saved my life." 

Ianto Jones shrugged. Despite the fact he was injured and obviously in some pain, he had done what he could to be a gracious host by offering the use of the coffee maker and the room service menu. But he wasn't the talkative type. Stuart supposed if you did classified work that knowing how to keep your mouth shut would probably be a job requirement. 

"I don't like people pointing guns," Jones admitted. "It makes me irritable." 

"I suppose it might," Stuart agreed. "Especially after … " he trailed off and pointed at Jones' injured leg. "What happened?" 

A flash of irritation. Just the briefest downturn of lips, and a tightening of the skin around his eyes, before Jones' expression turned bland and unreadable again. "A gun went off." 

"I'm sorry," Stuart said. "I didn't mean to pry. I suppose you can't really talk about it." 

"No," Jones agreed. "I really can't." He seemed to realise that he might be coming across as rude. "So, have you been on the homicide squad long?" 

Stuart nodded. "Since I became a detective. It's interesting work, most of the time. What's it like working for Special Branch?" 

There was another brief display of emotion and this time it seemed ironically amused. "It's not what you expect. Most days, it's just slogging through the routine. Other days ... well other days it's quite exciting, I suppose. The hours are long. The rewards are few. And you never get to tell the really good stories."

***

"I'm beginning to revise my opinion of DCI Burke," Jack said. He was bent over the shiny new laptop computer he had purchased on the way back from the police station. He placed the machine in Ianto's lap so he could see the summary report Gwen had composed. "His team's been busy." 

Ianto skimmed the summary. He'd been asleep when Jack had returned from the police station, put to bed by the police detective meant to keep an eye on him, and had slept until mid-morning. Now, weak daylight tried to break through the fog, and it seemed onto the mystery of Tal's death as well. 

There was a knock at the door. Jack rose and peered through the peep hole, one hand on his gun. He opened the door without releasing the chain.

"Letter for Mr Jones."

The bellman slipped the letter through the gap in the door. Jack fished in his pocket before handing over a folded bill in exchange. He closed the door and frowned at the envelope. Ianto closed his book of crosswords and frowned as well. They'd only been at the hotel for a day. It had hardly been long enough for them to get settled, let alone to receive mail. Jack held out the envelope for his inspection.

"Odd. Who's sending me letters?"

"Only one way I know to find out." Without waiting for permission, Jack slid a finger under the flap and opened it. He extracted a piece of torn claim check and turned it over, puzzling at the writing on the back. "That's our room number. But what's this? 'KG is a must see' and the word 'cyclone'." He looked at Ianto. "Does this mean anything to you?"

Ianto could only offer a puzzled frown. Then he remembered. "In my coat pocket. The one I was wearing when we arrived." 

Obediently Jack trotted off to the bedroom, leaving Ianto to inspect the ticket and the envelope it had arrived in. 

"In the mysteries, they would call this a clue." Jack handed the second piece of ticket over.

"I guess Tal knew they, whoever _they_ are, were on to him." Ianto stretched his hand out for a Glasgow guide, helpfully provided by the hotel, but he couldn't quite reach. Jack handed it to him. "Thanks." A fast glance at the index and Ianto opened the book. "As clues go, it's a little clumsy, but I'd be willing to bet the ticket belongs to the museum cloakroom." He extended the guide with the page open to the advert for Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum, one of Glasgow's most noted tourist destinations. 

Jack dropped the two halves of the ticket into his trouser pocket. "Then I guess I better go find out what's behind all of this."

***

To Stuart's mind, Harkness looked more like a tourist, and less like a man on a mission, as he entered the Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum. He held the door for a lady and her young son, a chestnut-haired lad of around eight who was confined to a wheelchair. The boy giggled and smiled as Harkness tousled his curling mop of hair. The mother gave him an admiring glance and called him a cheeky monkey. 

He dropped money in the donations box, picked up a leaflet advertising the current travelling exhibitions, regarded the sculptured disembodied heads hanging from the ceiling, and after a couple of minutes, finally made his way to the information desk where he cadged a piece of sticky tape from the granny who was manning the counter. He left her giggling too. 

Stuart ducked behind a column as it appeared his quarry was finally getting down to business. He watched as Harkness presented a claim check to the lad at the cloakroom and received a rucksack in return. When the cloakroom attendant handed the bag over, he made a comment that Stuart couldn't hear. Whatever it was, it amused the American. He smiled and shook his head. The word, 'taken' was easy enough to lip-read. Still, there was no denying the exchange had put an extra bit of spring in the man's step as he strolled up to queue in the café. 

Stuart grabbed an out of the way table, fanned his newspaper open, and pretended to read as the captain selected a table and made himself comfortable.

***

The contents of the rucksack contained all the things a silver-spooned university student might carry. A flash laptop computer, a state of the art mobile phone with a top of the line camera and video recorder, pens, a spiral notebook, and a couple of battered paperback novels. Jack sat at a cosy corner table of the museum's café and thumbed the novels to see if they contained any more cryptic clues, but it seemed as if Tal Wilson just liked to read. There was a light jacket roughly folded at the bottom. He checked the pockets and found a couple of USB drives. 

The drives and mobile went into his own pocket for safekeeping. Jack sipped at his coffee, scanning the faces of the café patrons. He thought he caught a glimpse of Burke's detective constable watching him from behind a newspaper, briefly considered inviting him over just for the fun of winding him up, and realised he really didn't have the time. 

The computer, and whatever it contained, were at the heart of the mystery. It was possible the data stored on them had cost Talbert Wilson his life. Still, Jack couldn't resist teasing just a little. He brushed close to DC Fraser and set his unopened packet of shortbread on the table. The sputtering sound of the detective constable's consternation were enough to keep Jack grinning all the way to the car park.

***

"Sir." Jackie knocked on the door frame of DCI Burke's office. He beckoned her in. She was dog tired, settling into the worn chair was a small comfort. But the hard graft was worth it. At least she thought so, and she hoped DCI Burke would agree. 

"What have you got for me, Jackie?" 

"Follow up canvassing of Wilson's neighbours. The man at number twenty-seven has been in Paris, that's why we missed him on our first go round. He saw Talbert Wilson entering the RDF offices at half eight the day before he was killed. He noted the time particularly, because he was coming from one business meeting and was late for another. 

"Didn't – " Burke sighed in frustration. "whatever his name was. The science boffin at RDF, say that Wilson had been paid off a month ago?" 

"He did, sir. And it gets more interesting." Jackie noted the gleam in Burke's eyes. He looked like a hound catching a particularly toothsome scent. "The science boffin, Marcus Saunderson, comes from rather humble beginnings."

"As did many," the DCI growled irritably. "What's your point?"

Matt Burke had come from humble roots. His father had toiled in the shipyards. Jackie realised she'd probably come off as snobbish. "No disrespect intended, sir. But you see, when Mr Saunderson was eighteen, he was involved in a serious traffic collision. The other passenger in the car was Lachlan Walsh. It turns out they're cousins." 

"Cousins? Now that is interesting." The detective chief inspector rubbed a hand against his cheek as he mulled the evidence. "But it's not enough. There's no actual tie between the Walsh brothers and Saunderson. We need more evidence!" He looked up at her, his face set in grim lines. "Keep digging."

***

Ianto had been busy in his absence, Jack noted as he passed through the main living area of the suite to drop his greatcoat in the bedroom. He had his mobile pressed to one ear, and the computer propped on his lap. He was speaking softly to Mark, tapping keys as they chatted about where the best place to store some of Torchwood Two's more delicate equipment until it could be integrated into their refurbished lab space. 

"Let me have a word," Jack said. He dropped into the chair, fished Talbert Wilson's computer out of the rucksack, and booted it. Unsurprisingly, it powered up to a log in screen. "Did you configure that with a Torchwood interface?" He pointed at the new laptop. Ianto nodded as he held it up to him. Jack scowled, caught between ire that Ianto was still ignoring his instructions about leaving off work, and gratitude that the new computer was ready for a critical task.

He gave himself a mental kick, realising there was no way Ianto would be able to hand over the computer without getting up himself, and heaved out of the chair to collect it. "Extra USB cable?" The cable followed the computer. Jack used it to hook the two machines together. "Phone." 

Ianto obliged. 

"Mark, I've just hooked a computer up to Ianto's. I want you to siphon everything." Jack remembered the USB sticks he'd stuck in his pocket. "Hold the line a second." He got up and fished them and the phone out of his greatcoat pocket, handed Talbert's mobile to Ianto, and plugged the sticks into available ports. "Yeah, sorry. There was a couple of external drives. I want them analysed too." 

"Jack." 

"Hang on a second, Ianto." Jack went back to his conversation with Mark. "Look for the anything with the word 'cyclone', it might be a keyword or a file name."

"Jack," Ianto said more loudly. "You need to look at this right now." 

"Quick as you can, Mark. Right." Ianto held the phone up and tapped the screen. Jack adjusted the displays of the linked computers, and then went to see what had caused Ianto, normally so courteous, to interrupt his telephone conversation. 

The mobile's battery was running low, and the display had faded to black. Jack pressed the menu button and a frame of video illuminated the screen. His mouth dropped open, undignified he knew, but under the circumstances, completely justified. "Oh. That is not good." 

He ran the video clip, staring as a pulsing beam of blue light shot out of a small black box and a large pile of concrete bricks stacked on the opposite side of the room atomised. "No wonder Talbert wanted us to see this." Jack felt numb all over and a bit sick. "That's a ship killer. And no, the creators weren't exercising creative license."

The sofa was full of Ianto, but Jack felt weak at the knees. He dropped heavily down onto the cushion, forcing Ianto to curl away or be crushed, as he tried to put his head around the enormity of the situation. 

"Tal's speciality was energy systems," Ianto said as he shifted to make room. "He must have stumbled across that, and recognised it as being of extraterrestrial origin." 

"Right." Jack rubbed his hand over his face, putting the pieces together. "He tried to contact Archie, but by then, we'd closed Torchwood Two. So he hid whatever proof he'd managed to steal in the cloakroom at the museum, and went to the train station with the intent of going to Cardiff." 

"But he saw you and followed. He thought, or maybe he knew, he was being watched," Ianto continued, picking up Jack's train of thought. "He lost his nerve, went into the bar, and saw me. Tal wasn't a field agent. He overcomplicated matters by giving me half the ticket, intending to explain and turn over the rest when we went to the room." 

"Something spooked him." Jack got up abruptly and began to pace. Nervous energy coursed through his body as everything fell into place. "He posted the other half of the ticket. If nothing had happened, then we still would have had the claim check the next day. As it was..." 

"Tal was killed. And he was still able to leave us an explanation," Ianto finished softly. He looked up at Jack with a sombre expression. "What are we going to do now?" 

"We can't take this to the police," Jack replied. "What's going on at RDF is our business." 

Ianto looked down at his leg. "We could bring the locals in. Have them sign the Official Secrets Act. DCI Burke already thinks we're up here on an operation."

Jack took a moment and considered scenarios. Dozens of gun-waving constables in paramilitary gear storming the office of RDF would make for great television news, but difficult explanations. He shook his head. "Busting through the front door is a little obvious, don't you think? We don't know what else they've got squirrelled away, and it could be messy. No, we need to be more subtle about this." 

"An extraction?" Ianto said doubtfully. "I don't know that the new team is ready for that kind of operation." 

"You only learn by doing," Jack countered, but Ianto had a point. As well as his new recruits were integrating as a team, they hadn't had the necessary experience for a sophisticated break in. 

"Idiot!" Ianto slapped his palm against his forehead. "Jack, we've just inherited a team of specialists. This is exactly the kind of operation Archie's people were trained for." 

Of course. He'd got so used to working on his own, having resources to draw on was almost a foreign concept. "I don't know. They're strangers." 

"Yes." Ianto was already reaching for his mobile. Of course he'd already updated it with his new employee's contact information. "They're strangers with experience. We need them, Jack. I can have all of them here in two hours." 

There was a lot to think about. They needed to know the extent of Talbert Wilson's find before they could put together a plan. They needed surveillance. Reconnaissance. CCTV would be useful to determine the comings and goings around the building. Blueprints to give them a feel for the inside. He looked down at the slaved computers. The transfer bar on Ianto's display showed that Mark was a quarter of the way to draining the other laptop of information. "Bring them in." He reached for the house phone and made reservations for four additional rooms. "Tell them to check in and wait for instructions."

To be concluded 


	3. Chapter 3

***

Technically, they were celebrating, but it felt like they were at an impasse. They hunched over their usual table, at the usual pub, ignoring the chatter of the usual regulars, who for the most part, knew them well enough to give them a wide berth when this sort of grim humour overtook them. Jackie watched as her colleagues moodily drank down their pints, waiting for the hammer to fall as DCI Burke stewed. She broke the silence. "We have the Walshes." 

Burke drilled her with an expression of pure frustration. "And the man who set them loose goes free." He drained his glass and slammed it against the table. "It's no good, Jackie." 

Stuart got up and looked at the others. "Same again?" There was a general mutter of assent, and he collected the glasses to return them to the bar. 

"What if we tell Saunderson we've got the Walsh brothers?" Robbie said into the gloom. "See how he reacts." 

"To what end?" DCI Burke shook his head. "So they're cousins. And a long time ago they were involved in an accident. That we've made the connection is hardly enough to get Saunderson quaking in his boots." 

Stuart returned bearing a tray of drinks. He handed a pint of heavy to Robbie, who sipped at it before setting the glass in front of him. "He lied about Wilson's movements at RDF." 

"We don't know for certain they met that night," DCI Burke countered. "All we know is that Wilson was seen in the vicinity of the building after Saunderson said he quit working there. And there's not enough evidence to get a warrant to prove otherwise." He took a long pull at his pint, draining half the glass, and then looked around the table with a speculative gleam in his eye. "If Wilson did steal something as Dougie Walsh said, do you think Saunderson would own up to that?" 

"Maybe we can use that as our opening," Jackie said slowly. She held up her hand before one of the others could speak. "Turn things around. Make Wilson the villain in the scenario. Tell Saunderson we found some information among Wilson's personal effects that we think belongs to RDF." 

The DCI mulled the proposition. It was almost as if Jackie could see the wheels spinning in his head. "What if he calls our bluff? Wants to see whatever it is we claim to have?" 

"We could bring Harkness in on this." There was hesitation in Stuart's suggestion. They all knew how the DCI felt about the American. "He might even have whatever it was Wilson took." 

"The rucksack?" Robbie speculated. Now it wasn't just the chief inspector who had wheels turning. A new sort of energy infused the dour atmosphere as possibilities opened up before them. 

"Of course," Stuart said. "Wilson took something from RDF with the intention of turning it over to Harkness, but he was killed before he could accomplish his mission."

It could work that way. Doubt lingered in Jackie's mind. "If Wilson was a member of Harkness' team, why hasn't he taken over our enquiry? He has the authority. If Dougie Walsh hadn't broken into his suite, I doubt he would have stuck his boot in at all." 

"Maybe a simple murder enquiry is beneath him," Robbie speculated over his beer. "Or maybe, he's telling the truth and was just caught up in events." 

"Too many maybes," the DCI growled. "I think tomorrow I'm going to have another word with Captain Jack Harkness."

***

"Is that better?" Jack fitted an icepack over Ianto's ankle, and then checked the one he'd already placed against his knee. 

He received a sigh and a soft, "Yeah, thanks," in reply.

"It's time for your pills." There was tea, freshly delivered by room service along with their late breakfast. Jack poured a cup and added milk and sugar, the adulteration only permissible because without it, the medication upset Ianto's stomach. 

"Only the antibiotic. I can manage without the other. I want to keep my head clear while we're working." 

Jack bit back a sigh of his own. He had grown used to Ianto's constant presence as his assistant, always seeming to know what he needed before he knew himself. As much as he needed that kind of help now, he shook his head. "You're not supposed to be working, remember? That's why you're wearing a hotel dressing gown in the middle of the day. You're on medical leave. So take the pill." 

"Work is a distraction," Ianto protested. "It keeps my mind off things." 

"I thought the gladiators were doing that for you." Jack had found himself frustrated when he'd shopped for DVDs. So many of the things the general population considered diverting contained reminders of things he didn't want Ianto to think about. Science Fiction was right out, as was most of the horror and crime genres. The last thing he wanted Ianto's thoughts to turn to was murder after becoming embroiled in Talbert Wilson's.

"I can only watch so many naked women, and so much homoerotic tension between well-muscled and oiled men, before I start thinking about other sorts of distractions," Ianto admitted. His eyes became a bit glassy as he seemed to recall a particularly diverting scene. "As much as I trust your vast experience, I don't trust myself not to react in a way that wouldn't end in literal tears." 

Jack pressed the pill against Ianto's palm. "As it happens, I do have a couple of ideas. And as soon as this mess is cleaned up, I'd be more than happy to demonstrate them for you." He placed his hand underneath Ianto's dressing gown. "I will be very careful." He traced a small circle against the warm skin, offering just a taste of what he was promising. "And you will be very, very, relaxed and happy after. I promise." He dipped forward and offered a teasing kiss. "Take the pill. Take a nap. Give yourself a chance to heal. Come on, I'll help you into the bedroom." 

Ianto grimaced as he swallowed the pill in a mouthful of tea. He stuck out his tongue to prove he'd been a good patient, accepted the kiss Jack offered as a reward, and then reached for his crutches. Jack held them out of his reach. The ice packs fell onto the carpet as Ianto rose with a grunt and leaned against him. 

As they made the journey to the bedroom, Jack noticed the bandage covering Ianto's calf was stained crimson. "Your dressing needs changing." 

The hospital had provided a wound care kit upon Ianto's release. Jack retrieved it, along with a thick hotel hand towel, from the bathroom. Ianto bit back a groan of pain as he rolled onto his stomach whilst Jack prepared a syringe of peroxide to flush the drain tube. The doctor had said the rubber tubing could be removed in a couple of more days, after which, they would likely clear Ianto for travel home. 

It didn't take long to replace the bandages. It helped that it was a reasonably simple operation, and that Jack was an old hand at field dressing. By the time he had finished, Ianto was snoring gently. 

He knelt at the bedside and watched Ianto's lips move in silent conversation. Tenacious loyalty was one of his partner's most enduring qualities, but it troubled Jack when it came at the expense of his own welfare. Was this survivor's guilt at play? Or was it something more troubling? Had Ianto's involvement in Torchwood somehow been responsible for transmuting a sterling character trait into something more sinister? Jack had known soldiers like that. They fought until they were carried off the battlefield feet first. 

He ran his fingers softly over Ianto's palm, smiling gently as they were captured. He stayed that way, letting the small contact soothe his troubled frame of mind until his reverie was broken by an insistent tap at the outer door.

***

Captain Harkness seemed delighted to see them. Stuart watched, barely keeping his jaw from dropping, as the American draped an arm over DCI Burke's broad shoulders and said since it seemed they had common interests, he would be happy to cooperate in a joint operation. 

As the two men talked quietly with Jackie about possible lines of enquiry and tactics for approaching Saunderson, Stuart looked around the room. It no longer seemed like that of a holiday goer. A notepad and two laptop computers sat on the dining room table. Lights blinked periodically on the protruding external drives. He sidled over and tried to take shifty, but the Captain noticed.

"Sorry. That's classified." He picked up both computers and the notepad and carried them into the bedroom. When he emerged a few moments later, there was a frown pulling at his mouth. "DCI Burke, I was wondering. Do you supposed I could borrow Constable Fraser?" 

"What for?" The DCI looked at Harkness warily.

"Small job. Nothing dangerous. Well, probably not."

For a brief moment, Stuart had visions of covert operations dancing in his head. They were dashed as Harkness explained. "Ianto hates it when he wakes up alone." 

Stuart felt heat crawl up his cheeks, pinking his ears, as the American winked at him.

***

Harkness introduced himself as a Detective Chief Superintendent at the reception desk, but as far as DCI Burke was concerned, he could call himself Queen of the Maypole as long as he kept to the script they'd worked out.

He'd left the RAF greatcoat back at the hotel, trading it for the sort of flash leather bomber jacket Robbie might favour for a night on the town. The jacket caught the receptionist's eye, and Burke watched as Harkness used the opening, effortlessly chatting her up, and getting her to admit she often forgot to get people to sign in when she was distracted by ringing phones and other distruptions.

That bit of information raised interesting possibilities as to Wilson's comings and goings from the building. Harkness continued to probe. He teased her a bit about the camera pointed prominently to record visitors, and asked if it made her feel self conscious. 

She dropped her voice to a whisper. "That one's just for show. I'm glad I don't work on the inside. Those are for real!" 

"Perhaps we better get on." Burke gestured to the door leading towards the inner sanctum. Harkness shrugged. Miss Rhonda Farrell, who would be more than happy to show a couple of strangers the sights of Glasgow, announced them before personally walking them to Dr Saunderson's office.

***

"Gentlemen, I'm not sure how I can help."

Dr Saunderson was the picture of befuddled innocence. Jack thought it was a pretty good act. "Come on, Marcus. You don't mind if I call you Marcus, do you? We _are_ all friends."

Saunderson was the smarmy type, so Jack laid it on thick, offering a smile full of bonhomie before switching tactics and going for the jugular.

"You hired Talbert Wilson to look over some insignificant subsystem. Naturally, because you didn't want him to know what you were really up to, you probably lied and told him it was for a green energy project. Something completely harmless. The only problem was Tal Wilson was a smart guy, and he saw through whatever story you told him. He got curious why he was being lied to, so he started poking around." 

Saunderson was vain in addition to being a social climber. He'd had Botox treatment, and it made it difficult to read his expression. There was a contraction of his pupils, though, and a fine sheen of sweat began to dampened his forehead. 

"Whatever Tal found was big. Really big. Did he confront you? Is that what set things off? Or did he just get caught copying incriminating documents?" 

Saunderson twitched. "I don't think I'm comfortable with this conversation." He dabbed his forehead with a silk pocket square. "I'd like you to leave." 

"Is that why you got your cousins Lachlan and Dougie to lean on him?" 

"I said – " Saunderson tried to put some force behind his words, but his voice quavered. "I'm not willing to speak with you any further." 

Jack shrugged. "We can come back with a warrant. And a team of forensic computer specialists. Even if you delete files, they can still find all kinds of interesting information." 

Saunderson reached for his phone. "Security, please." 

"It will go much easier with you if you'll talk to us." DCI Burke rose as a bland faced man in a tailored suit entered the office.

Jack studied him curiously. He rarely had seen someone so plain-looking as to be almost invisible. Sandy hair, nearly the same coloured skin. If it wasn't for his dark suit, he'd blend in with the painted wall behind Saunderson's desk.

"Mr Lucas will see you out." Saunderson dropped his gaze to the scatter of paperwork arranged on his desk and ignored their leaving.

***

"That was telling," Jack commented as DCI Burke pulled away from the kerb and into traffic. 

"Wasn't it just." Burke cut around a slower moving car and settled a little behind the wheel. "You spooked him when you mentioned computer forensics. I wonder why that was." 

"How hard did you lean on the other two?" The computer system was lagging. A transcript of the Walsh brothers' follow up interrogation hadn't made it into the system yet. 

"Hard enough." DCI Burke growled at the slower moving traffic before darting around a taxi. "Saunderson hasn't lifted a finger to help. You'd think if he had hired them, he wouldn't hang them out to dry."

Jack shrugged. "It's a bluff. He knows you have nothing but the word of a murderer to tie him to the crime. And it's possible there will be a pay off later for taking the fall." 

As plausible theories went, it seemed a bit of a stretch, but Burke almost seemed willing to buy it. As he pulled up to the hotel, his mobile rang. The DCI held up his hand. Jack paused, half in and half out of the car. 

"Right." Burke shut the mobile with a snap. "Saunderson bolted and he ran his car off the road."

***

Saunderson drove a red Porsche 911 Turbo. At least he did until he hit a curve going approximately ninety miles an hour and spun out. Now the car was a hunk of smoking scrap metal, and the less said about the state of Marcus Saunderson, the better. 

Jack turned away from the carnage as an attractive woman approached. She was wearing pale blue crime scene coveralls, and had her mane of blonde hair tied up in a high ponytail. She regarded him frankly. He smiled back at her as she said, "I don't think I've seen you around before." 

"This is Captain Harkness, of Special Ops," DCI Burke said. 

The woman raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Gemma Kerr, Forensics. And what brings you to our fair city, Captain?" 

"This and that," Jack replied. "Can you tell what killed him?" 

"Aren't you a goer?" She had already turned her back to him and was peering at the corpse. "I've just got on my gloves. It could be the burns, or the impact. I'll have to run a tox screen to rule out foreign substances. Anyone know the general state of his health?" 

"He looked a bit rattled when we spoke to him earlier," Jack said.

"So maybe he took a drink from the office bottle and it hit him harder than he thought. He got behind the wheel, lost control, and – " Gemma slammed her hands together. "Bang!" 

"It's a theory." Burke didn't sound pleased. 

"He's dead, Chief Inspector. Face it." Jack didn't mean to sound as abrupt as he did, but frankly, if Saunderson's death got the local cops out of his way then he was going to run with Gemma's careless driving supposition. "We spooked him. He ran. He ruined a gorgeous car, but it seems like sudden death always has collateral damage."

Burke shot him a dirty look, but until the forensic team came up with something to say otherwise, there was nothing left to investigate, and very little else to say.

The vibration of his mobile in his trouser pocket was a bit of a surprise. Jack had locked Ianto's in the safe with the computers to make sure he kept out of the loop. He stepped a few paces away from the heart of the crime scene before checking the display. A small wash of relief rode over him. It wasn't Ianto, outraged at waking to find a police minder. "Yes, Gwen." 

_"I've finished the background checks you wanted on the RDF employees."_

DCI Burke was heading his way with his DS in tow. Clearly, they were done with the preliminary, and ready to pack it in. "That's great, but keep it short, I'm kinda busy." 

_"Saunderson seems to be everything he claims to be. All of the names and dates the police have check. But there's another name."_ There was the sound of shuffling paper as Gwen reviewed her notes. _"Dr Justine Ashe. She's the Chief Technologist who works directly under Saunderson. It says here her previous employment was for Wood Hall Ltd. Jack, isn't that one of the code names for Torchwood London?"_

Jack got that feeling. The one where he thought everything bad had already happened and then realised that things were about to get worse. "Yeah. Yeah it is. In the computer access a file called Troublemakers. Use the encryption key Alpha Mike 159 Bravo to unlock it."

_"All right. I'm typing the code in now. What's in the file?"_

"I used to keep tabs on some of the more morally challenged of Yvonne's people. That name, it rings a bell." 

_"Got it!"_ Gwen announced triumphantly. She went quiet for a moment. _"It says, Jack, that Dr Ashe worked in the Weapons Development Sector. It also says she left under amicable terms."_

Very few people left Torchwood under amicable terms. Very few people left Torchwood at all. He had a vague memory of rumours about projects too hot for even Yvonne Hartman to sanction officially, but couldn't come up with anything more substantial. "Thanks, Gwen. I'll keep you posted." He disconnected and pocketed the mobile, wondering how the pieces fit together.

***

"Something isn't adding up." Matt pushed away a cup of stale coffee and stared down at the preliminary scene of crime report from Saunderson's accident. It would be days before they could be definitive, but at first blush, there was no sign that it was anything but what it appeared: an unfortunate road accident caused by a careless and speeding driver. Unless something else came to the surface, Marcus Saunderson's death was a matter for the traffic division, and none of his concern.

Harkness had seemed happy to accept the notion. The Wilson case was closed with no loose ends. At least not any that anyone was complaining about. 

And that, Matt realised, was what had been eating at him. Wilson had stolen company secrets. His home had been ransacked. He had been killed in the attempt to get them back. The plan had failed, and yet, the attempt to recover the information had died with the arrest of the Walsh brothers. Why?

He rooted amongst the paperwork covering his desk until he found the organisational chart and phone list for RDF. A Dr Justine Ashe was listed as Saunderson's deputy. Presumably, she might have some information about a security breach in their department. Matt dialled her number. A housekeeper answered and informed him the doctor had returned to the office. 

Matt glanced around the squad room. Jackie sat at her desk reviewing evidence for a preliminary hearing. Robbie had announced he had a date and left an hour ago. Stuart. He'd forgot all about Stuart. Matt wondered if he'd been any more successful in ferreting out anything useful than he had the last time he'd been seconded as minder. He supposed he could find out in the car. He summoned Jackie. It was time to introduce himself to Dr Ashe.

***

Jack looked tired and in no mood for surprises when he let himself into the suite. "What's going on?" 

Ianto watched as he surveyed the room and took in the strangers who occupied it, the open computers, the notepads and pens, the sketches and blueprints, and the clutter of cups, soda bottles, pots of tea and coffee, that were hallmarks of a campaign in its planning stages. 

A wave of pain coursed over his leg, but Ianto ignored it as he hauled himself to his feet. He pointed a crutch towards the bedroom door. Jack stalked ahead of him and when he was through, closed the door firmly behind them.

"I told you, you were on medical leave." Jack wasn't bothering to hide his anger. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were a stormy blue as he crossed his arms across his chest. "I told you to leave this to me." 

Ianto expected the anger. He had disobeyed direct orders and crossed explicit lines. He let it roll over him and waited for an opportunity to explain. "You did. You also told me that the remaining members of Torchwood Two's staff were my subordinates. How would it look if I were to stand down for their first mission under my command?" 

"I should have made you stay in hospital!" Jack stalked to the wardrobe to put his coat up as Ianto sank onto the bed. "What happened to DC Fraser?"

"When I woke, I explained I appreciated his company, but I had people coming, so his services were no longer required. I'm surprised you didn't see him keeping watch outside the room. He was very reluctant to leave without your say so." 

"So that's them?" Jack hitched a thumb towards the main room of the suite. "The extraction team?" He glanced at the wardrobe. "Which one of them cracked the safe?"

"That was Mara. Safes are something of a hobby with her." Ianto cut off Jack's retort. "They already knew about RDF." 

That earned him yet another dark look. "Then why didn't we know about it?" 

That was a legitimate question. The answer to which Jack wasn't going to like any better than any other aspect of this operation. "That's down to Archie. According to Bess – she's logistics and planning – he'd got a bit lost during the last six months." 

"An understatement if I've ever heard one," Jack muttered, but he gestured for Ianto to continue. 

"The others decided to carry on and cover up for him as much as they could. Simon – he keeps an eye on technology advancements – noticed something wasn't quite right at RDF. They decided to infiltrate and investigate." 

"Let me guess," Jack said. He dropped down onto the mattress beside Ianto. "They put a guy named Lucas into the operation to poke around. Off Ianto's surprised reaction he added, "I recognised him from earlier. He threw us out of Saunderson's office." 

"They enlisted Tal to help them put together documentation of what was going on inside," Ianto explained. "It was so big, they wanted a backup in case their operation failed. When the governors shuttered Two without warning, they knew their only option was to bring their findings to us. And that's when Tal was killed." 

"Saunderson is dead," Jack said, abruptly changing the subject. "Gwen called earlier and told me that the chief technologist at RDF is Dr Justine Ashe. Does that name do anything for you?"

The name had a familiar ring. He closed his eyes and a signature floated to the surface of his thoughts. It was on a report. A bold script, confidently rendered with a black nibbed pen. Similar documents had come over his desk often in his early days as a file clerk. Ianto opened his eyes. "She worked for Torchwood London doing weapons research. Her proposals often advocated offensive, rather than defensive, applications for the technology they analysed." 

"Ever meet the lady?" Jack asked.

Ianto shook his head. As a junior employee, long hours and impossible standards had been the norm. To complicate matters, Torchwood One had been a hotbed of interdepartmental politics. In order to survive, Ianto had kept his head well down as he learned the political landscape. He had tried, but with so many players, there was no way to have personal knowledge of everyone who worked in the building.

"In my early days at Torchwood, I rarely made it to the employee lounge, let alone had the opportunity to brush elbows with the science staff." 

Jack hitched a thumb in the direction of the other room. "Do they have a plan?" 

Ianto nodded. "Part one is complete. We have copies of all the research data, notes, and memoranda. All they need to do now is steal the device, eradicate the relevant files, and retcon two key employees." 

By the lift of his shoulders, Ianto could tell that Jack's confidence in Torchwood Two's remaining staff was beginning to increase. But computer manipulation and disseminating retcon was the easy part, relatively speaking. Getting into the secure facility to disassemble and cart out a sizeable piece of alien technology could be considerably more complicated. 

"When do they plan on finishing the job?"

"Tonight. They're ready to move. Lucas volunteered to cover for one of the other security guards. The others will go in as cleaners." Ianto looked up and down at Jack's lanky frame. "Do I need to requisition another set of coveralls?" 

There was sardonic humour in Ianto's eyes that offset the pain lines collecting around his mouth. Jack felt torn between where he wanted, and where he thought he needed, to be. "No. I'll observe the mission." He offered his hand. "I suppose you better make the introductions."

***

Except for the clerks behind the desk, and a plain-clothed security man with which Stuart had already had a word, the lobby was empty. He was hiding behind the Evening Times even though he'd already read the paper from front to back. 

Jones had been insistent that he could cope on his own. Friends were coming, he'd said. Maybe he was sticking his nose in where it didn't belong, but Stuart found that curious as the Welshman was supposed to be a stranger to Glasgow. 

Talbert Wilson had made Jones' acquaintance in London, and from the limited background check they had been able to perform, he had no other ties to the city. The _friends_ were evidently a secret from Captain Harkness as well. 

Dismissed from the suite in no uncertain terms, and loathed to disobey an order from a superior – even one who didn't get along with his DCI – Stuart had lurked in the corridors. A man in a flat cap, who sported a trim ginger moustache, had come out of the lift, tapped at the door to Jones' suite, and been admitted. He was followed a few minutes later by a plump woman in a sensible skirt and jumper. Then another man, this one so plain and dull Stuart had trouble remembering his looks in the time it took him to get out his notebook. And finally an Asian woman with striking black plaits. Not long after that, room service showed up, trolleys in tow. By the number of coffee and tea pots and covered dishes the group had ordered, it seemed they were settling in for an extended evening.

There seemed little point in lurking after that. Stuart had repaired to the lobby and settled in with his newspaper to wait and see whatever else might develop. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket, startling him. Stuart set down his cup of overpriced coffee and juggled his mobile into a more comfortable position. "Sir. No, I can talk." 

He briefed the DCI in the shortest possible terms, and received a gruff 'good thinking' in reply. 

"No sir. Harkness came in about three-quarters of an hour ago. Wait a minute." Stuart watched as one of Jones' visitors, a plain, sandy-haired man came out of the lift. The woman with the plaits followed from a different car a few moments later. "Sir, Jones' visitors are on the move. I think they may have an operation in play." 

They were Special Branch. Interfering with their movements could lead to disciplinary charges that would bury any prospects he had for a career forever. That was assuming he wasn't locked up in a maximum security prison. DCI Burke was evidently mulling the same sort of thoughts.

"Bloody Torchwood," he muttered. "Let them be, Stuart." Burke disengaged abruptly. Stuart wondered if he wasn't committing career suicide by disobeying a direct order. He trailed behind Captain Jack Harkness as he pushed Ianto Jones' wheelchair outside, and then watched as they got into a black van. Stuart hailed a taxi and tailed them.

***

As a first impression went, Jackie thought, Dr Justine Ashe didn't score terribly high. Initially, she had refused to see them at all, insisting that her work was too important to be disturbed. When DCI Burke pressed, she very grudgingly escorted them back to her office. 

"What is you want, Chief Inspector?" Her tone was clipped. London with a touch of something else. Her auburn hair was swept up in a severe twist and held in a tortoiseshell clip. The forest green trouser suit was so new it looked like it could have come off a tailor's dummy earlier in the day. 

The DCI took a chair despite not being offered one, and Jackie followed suit. "I want to know about Talbert Wilson. I want to know what he stole. And I want to know why, after having him killed, you've stopped trying to get it back."

***

"I feel for you."

Gazza Lucas looked up at Mioko Fujitsu and gave her a puzzled frown as he settled behind the security desk. Mioko was all right. She was a recent graduate from university, and was waiting to take the entrance exam for the police. The idealism of youth clung to her like morning dew, and just being around her made him feel less old and cynical.

"Why?" He shrugged as if he hadn't a concern in the world. 

"The Dragon Lady's here," Mioko whispered. "She plans on staying half the night from the way she was dragging her dispatch case. And right before you got here, the police showed up. You can imagine the mood that's going to put her in." 

Damn. That was a complication they didn't need. Lucas answered her commiserating smile with one of his own. "You better not stick around then. Best be far away when the fallout hits." 

Mioko giggled and hip bumped him on their way to the front door. Lucas wondered if there was any way he could keep seeing her after he ended the job at RDF. She was one of the few people who made a point to look past his deliberately bland and forgettable exterior, and he wanted the opportunity to know her better. 

"I'll see you tomorrow." He waved as he relocked the door. The smile that pulled at his lips fell away as he informed the rest of the team of the unforeseen complication.

***

"We can't wait." Ianto looked up from the laptop screen. There were two command and control stations in the van, Ianto occupied one, keeping an eye on developments back in Cardiff, whilst Jack monitored Lucas, who was running the operation from the security centre inside the building. "Dr Ashe was browsing travel options earlier. Also, she does her banking in the Cayman Islands, and someone has just wired in ten million pounds." 

"Damn." Jack blew a breath out through pursed lips. "Lucas, did you copy that? We have to move." 

"Copy. All members proceed." 

Bess nodded to Alf. "Time to go." They rolled cleaning carts out of the janitor's cupboard. The carts were loaded with spray bottles and mops, dusting clothes and other supplies. Secret compartments held less mundane tools. They paused ten feet in front of Dr Ashe's office. Bess tied a cloth around her neck and tucked her plaits under a paper cleaner's cap. "Right, you go ahead and get started." 

"Shouldn't we let the cops get clear?" Alf asked. He ran a hand through his thinning ginger hair and straightened his apron.

Bess shook her head. "What if she decides she wants to give them a tour? Now stop wasting time and get moving. Remember, it's the white wires for power, and the green for the computer hookups." 

"And it's always better to use the narrow end when you suck eggs," Alf shot back before sending his cart rumbling down the corridor. 

Bess told herself to get a grip. Alf was a solid technician, and even though the alien device was wired into a complicated grid of electronics, he knew his business. 

Elsewhere in the building, the trojan horse was already releasing viruses into the computer network. They would delete all the technical files associated with the Cyclone Project and rewrite every document and memo stored on the hard drive and backup system with harmless technobabble. Mara would handle the hard copies. Her cart held boxes full of similarly doctored printouts just waiting to be substituted for the originals.

Bess took a bottle of wood polish out of her cart and a cleaning cloth. She sprayed polish on Dr Ashe's door and buffed it into the wood. Then, she took a small, flat disc-shaped microphone out of her tool kit and pressed it onto the polished surface. The circuitry of the device blended with the wood grain, rendering it virtually invisible. With her headphones in place, it made it easy to listen in.

***

"Chief Inspector, the problem with your claims are they're ludicrous. I can assure you there was no conspiracy to kill Talbert Wilson. There are no confidential files or documents missing. As for Marcus Saunderson's death. It's a tragedy that has dealt this company a staggering blow from which it won't soon recover." Dr Ashe dabbed her eyes with a tissue, and pointed at the stack of papers cluttering her desk. "But we must go on. I'll be half the night preparing to meet with the directors to determine how we're going to proceed." 

It all seemed very convincing and Jackie was prepared to give her the benefit of the doubt, but DCI Burke still wasn't satisfied. 

"Then explain to me, if you can, Dr Ashe, why the two we've got locked up claim they were ordered to take missing documents back from Mr Wilson?" 

Dr Ashe sighed. Her gaze flickered to the computer monitor before she poured water from a heavy crystal decanter into an equally ornate tumbler. When she looked back at them, she seemed haggard from the effort of keeping up appearances.

"I was hoping I could spare Dr Saunderson's reputation. He's been working so hard. His research meant so much to him. But the truth is, Chief Inspector, he's been cracking under the strain. He oversold the capabilities of a system he's been working on, and though he'd put his heart and soul into the effort, well... I'm afraid it wasn't going to meet expectations. He accused Tal of stealing his work and substituting inferior designs." She bowed her head and dabbed at her eyes again. "I'm beginning to think that Marcus' crash wasn't an accident. It might have been suicide."

***

"I gotta admit, she's good," Jack said. Though it wasn't clear if he meant Dr Ashe's performance for the police, or Bess' sangfroid when dealing with unexpected obstacles. 

Ianto grunted in reply, a rather uncharacteristic response. Jack swivelled his chair around. He reached over and placed his hand against his partner's shoulder. "Are you okay?" 

"Yeah. Fine. Maybe coming out wasn't the best idea ever," he conceded. 

Jack frowned with concern. Ianto's face as he turned away from the command console was clammy. He bit back the "I told you so" that really did go without saying. He understood Ianto's reasons for being there, and though it pained him on a personal level, professionally, he agreed with them.

After he calmed down a little and talked with the latest additions to his team, Jack saw what Ianto already understood. The recovery group had become strays, struggling to continue work they knew had to be done without leadership or guidance. They wanted to be part of a greater whole. They needed to included under the tattered umbrella of Torchwood Three in more than a symbolic sense.

"You've done good work tonight. I'm proud of you." He glanced at the clock, its red numbers loomed in the otherwise discreetly-lit van. "The team should be clear in another few minutes."

***

"You'll understand if we continue to follow up our enquires." DCI Burke had asked the same questions several different ways. With enough dogged patience, he seemed to think he could trip her up, but her attention seemed to be drifting. Finally he said, "Is something troubling you, Doctor?" 

Bess didn't like the sound of that at all. Nor did she like Dr Ashe's reply. "It seems there's been a security malfunction in my laboratory, Detectives." 

All the things that could have gone wrong flickered through Bess' mind including industrial espionage from a rival concern, and then she remembered. When she was bored or wanted a distraction, Dr Ashe had a habit of pulling up the security video feeds and letting them play over her monitor. As a matter of course, they had forged the footage playing in the lab, putting it on a twenty minute delay to give Alf and Mara time to steal the Cyclone apparatus and switch the documents, but there was no way to change the old fashion Waterford clock ticking away on Dr Ashe's desk without risking comment. If she compared the two ... 

"We're blown. No choice, I'm going in." 

Bess pulled her facecloth firmly into place. Spray bottle in hand, she strode into the office. "Oh, I beg your pardon!" she said, putting on hand to her breast as she sprayed aerosolised retcon liberally into the faces of the two detectives and Dr Ashe. She watched as they slumped into unconsciousness. "Right. That buys us a few minutes. What do we do with the polis?"

***

"That's Burke's car there," Jack said. "I recognise it from earlier." He keyed his mike. "I'm gonna come in and give you hand with the clean up. Be ready at the door in ten." 

He slipped out of the van. One pace before he would have hit glass, the front door opened just enough for him to squeeze through.

"Come on," Lucas said. "They're through here." 

The corridors were starkly lit and clinically cold with no staff scurrying up and down them to keep things interesting. Jack took it all in as a matter of course, but his main focus was on the tight-lipped man next to him who strode purposefully toward the executive office suites. 

"In here." 

Dr Ashe had been arranged slumped over her desk, her cheek pillowed on a stack of memos, her hand curled around a fountain pen. The computer had her diary prominently displayed. It was filled with the next day's meetings from half eight forward. 

The two detectives were out cold in their chairs. Jack hauled DCI Burke into his arms and woofed as he slung the chief inspector into a fireman's carry. He hoped Lucas was a little more graceful with DS Reed, but he hadn't the energy to spare to check. 

It was a much longer walk to the front door. Jack was grateful to reach the street. He felt better after several gasps of bracing cold air. "Ianto. If you're still with us, don't forget to purge the street cameras." 

_"Temporarily blacked out since you left the van."_

Despite his earlier grim musings, Jack felt another surge of pride at Ianto's persistence as he tucked the DCI into the passenger seat of his car. 

The blow behind his ear caught him completely by surprise. He staggered upright, blinking away stars, and was shocked to see DC Fraser standing in front of him, arm cocked and ready to swing again. Jack held up his hands. "Whoa, boy, easy!" 

Fraser swung. Jack dodged and pivoted, coming up from behind to pin the other man's arms. "You're persistent. I like that," he whispered against Fraser's ear. "Unexpected acts of machismo from someone so innocent looking are sexy." 

As much fun as teasing the other man was, they were working. Jack pulled a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and restrained the detective constable with business-like efficiency. "Put him in the van to cool off," he told Lucas. "Then take care of these two." He regarded Stuart frankly for a moment. "After we're finished cleaning up we can talk."

***

The inside of the van was crammed with computer equipment, banks of monitors, and lots of boxes, some of which had blinking lights. Stuart tried to take it all in. It was like something out of _Spooks_ , only right there for real. Ianto Jones sat hunched over a keyboard. He had an microphone close to his mouth, and muttered instructions to someone in a hoarse, over-controlled voice. 

On one of the monitors, DCI Burke's car pulled away. 

"I don't understand," Stuart sputtered. "What's going on? What have you done to Chief Inspector Burke and Jackie?" 

"Acknowledged," Jones said into the microphone. He tapped at the keyboard and a new CCTV camera view appeared on one of the monitors to his right. "They're fine. We just had to move them to somewhere less problematic." He shifted the monitor slightly to a better angle for Stuart. "Watch." 

A few moments later, the chief inspector's car pulled into view. "On my mark." Several seconds passed as Jones tapped at his keyboard. "Now." The display juddered, whiting out for almost fifteen seconds before coming in as cleanly as before. 

"Your chief inspector and detective sergeant are on the next street up. When they come to, they'll think they've been watching the back of the building where the employee car park is located. No doubt DCI Burke will be displeased that both he and DS Reed fell asleep whilst on duty, but it has been a very long day." 

"But why?" Stuart repeated. 

Jones held up a hand and went back to muttering into his microphone. 

There was a tap on the door and Captain Harkness reappeared. The van wasn't tall enough for him to stand upright, so he hunched his shoulders and settled against an equipment rack. "Pretty neat, huh?" He gave Stuart a toothy grin.

Jones glanced at him and said, "Don't tease the civilian, Jack. You said you'd explain." 

Harkness mouthed the word 'grumpy', but shrugged. "I should get you to sign the Official Secrets Act, but I don't have a copy on me, so I'm just gonna have to trust you to keep your mouth shut. Can you do that?"

Stuart nodded. He was their prisoner, if it would keep him in one piece, he'd agree to almost anything.

"Good. See Ianto, I told you: smart, persistent, takes initiative. We can use more like him." 

"I don't think when Gwen said bring her back a souvenir, she meant a Scottish DC." Jones glanced at the clock. "Time." The announcement seemed to be meant for both his partner and the people in the building.

"You were the one that said we needed to expand faster," Harkness replied. There was the sound of an old argument about the comment that Stuart didn't understand. 

"Point taken. Sixty seconds to egress."

"Right." Harkness rubbed his hands together. "The fact of the matter, DC Fraser, is that Dr Ashe has been a very naughty scientist, playing around with technology that doesn't belong to her. Worse, she's decided to sell it on to some very nasty people. At Torchwood, we take a dim view of that sort of thing."

"So why all the cloak and dagger?" Stuart asked. "If she's done something illegal, why don't you just arrest her?"

Harkness looked at Jones. Jones was too busy to look back. "Too public. It's much cleaner in the long run to confiscate the tech and discredit Dr Ashe both personally and professionally. She'll be prosecuted for – What was it, Ianto?"

Stuart watched one of the monitors as Harkness' team began to roll cleaning carts and trolleys out of the building.

"Siphoning company funds." Jones held up a hand. "Nothing to do with us. She's been embezzling for months to fund her private research. Compared to what else she's been getting up to though, it's a slap on the wrist." 

It was all so much to take in. Torchwood actually took part in the sort of convoluted operations normally only imagined in popular entertainment. Stuart wasn't sure if he should be excited as hell or scared out of his wits that they were exposing their secrets to him. "Why are you telling me this?" he finally asked.

Harkness smiled cryptically as Ianto Jones said, "Jack, it's time to go."

***

It was late. Night fell over Glasgow like a soft wool blanket. Stuart regarded the façade of the Victorian train station and the street beyond. The face of Glasgow was changing, it was no longer the mean city of his youth, and in his modest way, he had helped make things better. He fingered the Torchwood business card in his pocket and felt a restlessness of spirit that suggested now was a time for personal change as well. He had grown complacent in DCI Burke's shadow. He had settled.

Captain Harkness said there was a place on his team available. A team that worked in the shadows to make not one city, but the entire British commonwealth a better place. Stuart remembered the look in Ianto Jones' eye when he said, _You never get to tell the really good stories._

Tomorrow he would make the call.

End


End file.
